


(The Very Modern) Mr. Barrow Gives Up Smoking

by Tito11



Series: Mr. Barrow Gets the Guy [5]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-21 01:40:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1532993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tito11/pseuds/Tito11
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern!AU in which Mr. Barrow gives up smoking and instead takes up lollipops, much to Jimmy's dismay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(The Very Modern) Mr. Barrow Gives Up Smoking

**Author's Note:**

> This is the modern version of the rest of the 'Mr. Barrow' series, featuring little Tommy and Oliver as Thomas's Little. Think of it as a special feature while we're waiting for Tito to stop being hella slow and write the next proper installment. 
> 
> *Spoiler alert for the rest of the series. Read the other four stories first.*

The door slams shut, and Jimmy startles awake, rolling off the sofa and landing rather hard on his knees.

“Fuck,” he mutters, and starts the painful process of climbing to his feet. He’s on the sofa again and rubbing his knees gingerly when Thomas storms into the room, looking livid. Jimmy eyes him warily. “How’d it go?” he asks carefully.

“Oh, wonderful,” Thomas sneers. “Just bloody wonderful. Do you know what that woman wants me to do?”

“Have sex with her?” Jimmy ventures. It seems a good bet; Agatha is constantly trying to get into Thomas’s pants.

Thomas freezes and for a moment Jimmy’s sure he’s crossed some sort of line (though he doesn’t know how he could have, not when they joke about Agatha being in love with Thomas still every single time Thomas goes to drop Tommy off at his mum’s house). Then the tension rolls out of Thomas’s shoulders and he starts to laugh, though it sounds a little hysterical to Jimmy.

“She wants me to quit smoking,” Thomas says when he finally manages to get himself back under control. 

“No!” Jimmy says, because he can’t picture it, he really can’t. “She never!”

“She did,” Thomas says, voice entirely sober now. “She’s worried about the kid inhaling second-hand smoke.”

“You’re not smoking on him,” Jimmy points out. “Or even in his general direction.” Thomas doesn’t smoke in the flat at all, as a rule, or if he does, he always sits on the window sill and sticks the whole top half of his body out.

“That’s what I told her,” Thomas says. “We’ve been doing just fine for the first seven years of his life without resorting to anything drastic, so why start now?”

“So what, you’re just not going to smoke when he’s over?” Jimmy asks. It’ll be a bitch, no doubt about that, but it seems a fair compromise.

Thomas shakes his head.

“You’re not going to quit completely, though,” Jimmy says, confused. “She can’t make you change up your whole life for two days a week, can she?”

“She got him to give me the eyes,” Thomas says. “You know the ones I mean. He was lookin’ at me all sad and tearful and begging me to quit. I couldn’t say no to that.”

Jimmy does know the eyes, as a matter of fact, because Thomas has the same ones and he breaks them out in times of crisis, like that one time he’d saved Jimmy from being mugged in that dark alleyway and got a beating for his troubles, but still had the wherewithal to make Jimmy promise not to take that way home anymore.

“So what are you going to do?” Jimmy asks.

Thomas sighs and reaches into his pocket, pulling it back out after a moment. When he holds his palm out, Jimmy can see he’s got a fistful of sweets. “I’m going to take up lollies,” Thomas says, and Jimmy can’t help it; he laughs.

 

Of course, the whole thing isn’t nearly as funny a week later. The thing about Thomas smoking is that Jimmy rarely saw Thomas do it, because it was never in the house and unless Jimmy’s having a rough sort of day, he’s not really the smoking type, himself. With the lollies, though, Thomas can take those anywhere and it’s… well, it’s become rather distracting, to be perfectly honest. 

The truth is, Thomas has very nice lips. They’re very nice to look at, anyway (Jimmy doesn’t remember- and thank God for that- if they were nice to the touch). And they do look rather nicer stretched around a lolly, anyone can see that. If it wasn’t Thomas sucking on sweets all day and instead was some other ex-smoker, Jimmy doesn’t imagine he’d notice things like the unnatural color of Thomas’s tongue when it darts out to wet his lips or the outline of the lolly against the inside of his cheek, the indecent press of it outward. It is Thomas, though, and Jimmy spends all day with him every day. And well, Thomas is rather handsome, isn’t he? Jimmy doesn’t have to be a poof to notice that.

The other thing about Thomas is that he’s been smoking since he was sixteen, and even though it hadn’t turned into a full-blown addiction for several years after that, that’s still years and years that Thomas hasn’t gone a day without a fag (and usually two or three, if Jimmy’s any judge). It’s not that he’s moody, exactly, at having to give them up, so much as he seems to constantly be in a struggle with himself over it. At least six times a day, Jimmy sees Thomas reach into his pocket where his pack of cigarettes ought to be and pull it back out empty. When they go round to the shops together, Thomas always ends up with his nose pressed against the glass, staring transfixed at the wall-to-wall display of cigarettes, usually for long enough that the shopkeeper starts to get suspicious. Jimmy does his best to distract Thomas whenever this kind of thing happens, pointing out interesting gossip rags or waving a candy bar in front of his face, but there’s no doubt about it: even with the sweets, Thomas is having one hell of a time giving up smoking. In fact, the only time it doesn’t seem to be a problem is when Tommy is over.

 

Jimmy loves Tommy, he really does, and not just because he’s Thomas’s son, either. He’s a funny lad, is all, and clever, as well. Top of his class that boy is, and alright, it’s only primary school, but the kid’s constantly bringing home top marks. There’s no question where the lad gets it from, either, as Agatha’s certainly no genius. 

The way Tommy acts around Jimmy, too, is a wonderful thing. He loves Jimmy, absolutely loves him, and he obviously inherited Thomas’s tendency to look at Jimmy with the promise of forever in his eyes, though of course his promise is an entirely innocent one, full of bedtime stories and gifts on Father’s Day. Like with Thomas, it’s no secret how Tommy feels about him, but somehow, Jimmy doesn’t mind.

Agatha, on the other hand, always treats Jimmy to a polite but distant smile and small talk about the weather when they meet, as though she really wants to like him but just can’t bring herself to. It’s no mystery why, of course: the poor woman obviously thinks Jimmy and Thomas are shagging, despite Thomas telling her a million times that just isn’t the case. Jimmy never tells her anything of the sort, for reasons he can’t quite fathom. It’s a kindness, maybe, letting her think Thomas isn’t available, because for her, he never will be. Thomas is queer, any idiot can see that, and he’s never, ever going to marry that daft girl, no matter how often she bats her eyelashes at him. 

 

The thing about working in the restaurant that Thomas’s biological dad owns is that he ends up waiting on the man at least three times a week when he brings his whole family in to dine. They’re very posh, are the Crawleys, more so even than most of the very upscale clientele that usually frequent the place. And it’s not that being posh is necessarily a bad thing, but when that man directs his posh attitude toward Thomas, like the two of them aren’t even blood, it makes Jimmy’s jaw ache from clenching his teeth so hard. It’s just not right.

“Don’t you worry about me,” Thomas said the first time Jimmy had brought it up, a few weeks after learning the truth about Thomas’s parentage. “I’ve got Crawley right where I want him.” He’d looked pleased at Jimmy’s indignation on his behalf, though, so that was alright. And Jimmy believes him, of course, believes that he absolutely has Robert Crawley on the ropes, taking all he can get away with and then some, but that doesn’t make it any easier to see him dismiss Thomas like he’s just some sort of servant instead of the bastard son he tries to pretend he doesn’t have. It only helps a little that Cora leaves both Thomas and Jimmy astronomical tips at the end of every meal.

 

The restaurant is always closed Mondays and Tuesdays, which makes those the perfect days for Tommy to come over. Usually how it happens is Agatha walks the lad to school on Monday and then Thomas picks him up afterward. They spend the day together and Tommy spends the night. The next morning, Thomas walks him to school and he picks him up again in the afternoon. Tuesday nights, Thomas walks the boy back to his mum’s house, which is only really a few streets away. Jimmy doesn’t tend to be involved in these proceedings, except for the part where he also lives in Thomas’s flat, but sometimes, when Thomas asks nicely, he’ll make an exception.

“Jimmy!” Tommy yells as soon as he sees him waiting and launches himself into Jimmy’s arms. 

“Oof,” Jimmy says, staggering slightly, but he steadies himself and ruffles the kid’s hair. The other parents are giving them suspicious looks, probably because Jimmy could never pass for anybody’s parent, but Jimmy just grins smugly at them, because he doesn’t see Tommy introducing any of them as his step-father to all his little friends. (Actually, the first time Jimmy heard him do this, he’d freaked the fuck right out. “I’m not your step-father,” he’d said. “I’m not- you know I’m not married to your dad, don’t you?”

“Oh, I know that,” Tommy had replied, and he hadn’t even seemed upset about it. He hadn’t quit referring to Jimmy that way, either, though, and eventually Jimmy just learned to take it as a child’s hopeful imagination. And if there’s a part of him that really sort of does enjoy hearing himself called that way, it’s alright, because Jimmy’s got years of practice ignoring that kind of thing.)

“Where’s dad?” Tommy asks as they start the walk home.

“Sleeping,” Jimmy tells him. He doesn’t mention that this not-smoking business has been taking it right out of Thomas, making him edgy and exhausted. “D’ya mind having me, instead?”

“No way,” Tommy says happily and takes his hand. “You’re great!” Jimmy pretends not to notice how gratified he feels. 

 

When they get back to the flat, Thomas is still asleep, so Jimmy makes Tommy a sandwich and pours him a glass of milk, which is what Thomas usually does. “Er… how was school?” he finally thinks to ask.

Tommy swallows his mouthful of bread and grins at him. “I got a sticker!” he says excitedly. “Scratch and sniff. It smelled like grapes!”  
He sounds so very happy about it that Jimmy can’t help but to smile back. “Oh?” he asks. “What’d you get that for?”

“We had to write a story about our family,” Tommy explains, this time not bothering to swallow the food in his mouth before talking (Agatha would scold him, Jimmy knows, but Thomas wouldn’t, so Jimmy doesn’t, either). “I wrote about how mum and dad met and the teacher said I had perfect spelling.”

“Did you?” Jimmy asks. He’s almost positive Tommy doesn’t know the truth about how his parents met, that his dad had gone on a bender of booze and coke the week after his boyfriend committed suicide and, between an endless amount of hook-ups with men, had accidentally slept with Agatha, as well. Jimmy doesn’t know much about kids, but he’s sure Thomas wouldn’t have told his seven year old son that story. “What did you say?”

Tommy gives him a strange look, like he’s wondering why on earth Jimmy doesn’t know the story. “They danced together,” he explains slowly. “And mum thought dad was very pretty and dad thought mum was very nice, and then they decided to have me.”

That’s one way of putting it, Jimmy supposes. To the kid, he says, “Yep, sound about right.”

“Can we watch telly?” Tommy asks as he finishes his sandwich. 

He’s not supposed to before he does his schoolwork, they both know that, but Agatha isn’t here and Thomas is sleeping, and really, Jimmy’s the cool parent. Well, the cool not-parent. Or something, anyway. “Sure,” he says, and he and Tommy share a grin.

 

It’s not that Jimmy doesn’t like kids; his time with Tommy proves that. There are a few he dislikes in particular, though, and one of them is bloody Oliver. Olly, as Thomas calls him, is Thomas’s Little for the Big Brothers, Big Sisters program. Jimmy would never have pegged Thomas for the sort to volunteer for anything, and ordinarily he’d be right, but Thomas has a soft spot for kids just starting to realize they’re queer, which means Oliver’s constantly coming over in the afternoons. Sometimes Thomas takes the kid out to the park or the movies or something, but other times they just hang around the flat together, and those are the times Jimmy likes least.

“Hello,” Oliver says politely when Jimmy answers the door. “Is Mr. Barrow here?” He always calls him that, Mr. Barrow, and to Jimmy it makes the whole thing seem a lot more sordid, like Thomas is an old pervert having the kid over for ice pops and shags. 

“Yes,” Jimmy says, and grudgingly stands back for the kid to come in. 

“Oh,” Thomas says, when Jimmy leads the walk back into the sitting room. “That’s right, we have plans today, don’t we? Just gimme a minute, Olly, and I’ll be ready.” He gives Oliver a look that makes the kid blush and then goes to change into something more appropriate than yesterday’s jeans and the worn band t-shirt Jimmy’d borrowed when he’d first moved in and slept in for over a year before remembering it didn’t belong to him.

While he’s gone, Oliver chews his thumbnail and stares at the floor. Jimmy stares at Oliver, evaluating him, trying to figure out what it is Thomas likes about him. He’s just a skinny kid, as far as Jimmy can tell, fourteen and in his school uniform still. He’s got smooth skin yet, no acne in sight, but his hair is mousy and his nose is pointy and his teeth are far too small. Jimmy reassures himself of these things every time he sees the kid, but it never does any good, because he just keeps coming around.

Finally Thomas comes back and says, “Right, then. Are you ready to go?” He catches sight of Jimmy’s face and adds quickly, “We’re off to see a film. You’re welcome to come, of course.” 

And that, that is what Jimmy hates most about Oliver. It’s not that he’s mousy or that he’s fourteen and annoying or that he has a crush on Thomas that’s frankly embarrassing to watch. No, it’s none of that. What bothers Jimmy is that when Oliver is around, Jimmy gets ignored. 

 

Jimmy thinks about the night he and Thomas kissed, sometimes. Some nights, as he’s lying in bed, waiting to sleep, he thinks about those blasted lollipops and Thomas lips stretched around them and always, he inevitably remembers the kiss. He wonders if Thomas thinks of it ever, if Thomas even remembers. He doesn’t know how Thomas would have forgotten; Jimmy certainly hasn’t, not in the three years since it happened. They’d only known each other a few months, then, but they’d got on quite well, especially after Jimmy realized Thomas was willing to go above and beyond the normal call of friendship where Jimmy was concerned: picking him up from the pub at three in the morning, spotting him five quid when he was running low, getting him a job as waiter at the posh restaurant where Thomas is maître d’. Thomas also wasn’t shy about exploiting the information he had on their coworkers and acquaintances for his (and Jimmy’s) benefit, which was a great change from all the very nice and very boring people Jimmy’d known before him. All in all, Thomas was shaping up to be the best mate Jimmy had ever had.

They’d been drinking together that night at Thomas’s flat and Jimmy had been whinging on about his girlfriend, Ivy, who’d broken up with him just that morning. He’d been pressuring her to have sex, she said, and while Jimmy could admit that might have been true, he didn’t see what all the fuss was about. It’s not as though he wasn’t fit. She had no reason not to have sex with him, he thought, but obviously she thought different, because their on-again-off-again relationship had become permanently off. That, combined with Jimmy’s frustrations with the restaurant manager Mr. Carson, meant Jimmy was looking to get pissed.

After a few hours of steady drinking, Jimmy had really started to feel it. His eyes kept closing on him and, try as he might, he just couldn’t seem to make himself sit back up from where he was slouched against Thomas on the sofa.

“Jimmy,” Thomas said after a while, shaking his shoulder. “Wake up, Jimmy. You can’t sleep like that.”

Jimmy hadn’t paid him any mind, because he bloody well could sleep like that if he wanted to; Thomas wasn’t his keeper.

“Jimmy,” Thomas said again, a whisper this time and very close to Jimmy’s face. Jimmy ignored him.

He wasn’t expecting the kiss, and even now, years later, he’s still not sure why not. It was obvious from the first that Thomas fancied him, but somehow, he hadn’t thought it would ever come to this, that Thomas would ever dare actually kiss him. Maybe he thought he could just keep stringing Thomas along forever, being his friend and getting favors from him, without ever giving anything back. Either way, he hadn’t been expecting the kiss and he jerked back, angry and no longer feeling quite so drunk at all.

“What the fuck?” he asked, shoving Thomas away. “Did you just fucking kiss me?”

For a brief moment, Thomas looked confused, but then his expression became stricken, like his world had crashed down around him and all his hopes and dreams had disintegrated. “Jimmy-” he started, but Jimmy shook his head and scrambled backward.

“I’m not a goddamn queer,” Jimmy spit at him, drawing himself to the very other end of the sofa, as far away from Thomas as he could get without standing up. 

“Alright, alright,” Thomas said, putting his hands up, obviously trying to look as though it was alright. “I didn’t mean- Jimmy, I’m sorry. I just thought-”

“Well, you thought wrong, didn’t you?” Jimmy shouted. “Don’t ever do that again, do you hear me? Don’t even fucking touch me again!”

Thomas sucked in a sharp breath, but nodded stiffly. “Right,” he said shakily. “Right. I’m sorry. I’ll just…” He stood up and left the room. Jimmy watched him go, stomach roiling and sweat sliding down his face. When he thought his legs would support him, he got up and walked home. He had to stop to puke twice on the way.

The next few months were rough, with Jimmy avoiding Thomas as much as possible and being an outright cunt to him at work. Thomas never said anything about it, never fought back or treated Jimmy with anything but wistful respect. Jimmy had never been lonelier or more miserable in his life, but it was for the best, and as long as he kept telling himself that, he could make it through the day. 

And then came the night in the alley, the night Jimmy took a shortcut to his flat instead of the long way with the street lights. He’d nearly gotten jumped that night and would have, if it hadn’t been for Thomas following him and taking the beating in his place while Jimmy bolted. He’d gone back for him, of course, after he’d got a few of the blokes from the restaurant to come along, but by then the thugs had been gone and Thomas had been beaten all to hell. And even then, even after all that, Thomas had been concerned about Jimmy, making him promise not to take that way home anymore, as it was far too dangerous. 

After that, Jimmy had realized he was being stupid. Thomas was a good man and a good friend, and surely one ill-advised kiss when Jimmy had been near to passed out drunk couldn’t ruin the potential between the two of them. They could still be friends, as long as Thomas never tried that kissing business again, and he promised he wouldn’t. Even after Jimmy’s landlord kicked him out for his consistently late rent and he’d moved in with Thomas, Thomas had never tried anything again. And now, they’re closer than ever before, they’re practically together in every way but the most obvious, and Jimmy can’t stop looking at Thomas’s mouth. It’s possible he was a little hasty in his pronouncement that he’d never be able to give Thomas what he wants.

 

They’re sitting together one Tuesday night on the sofa, just after Tommy has been walked home. They’ve got to go back to work tomorrow, start the whole week over again, with Tommy and Agatha and Crawley and Oliver all vying for their attention, but for now it’s just the two of them, and that’s how Jimmy likes it best. Thomas has a lolly in his mouth. It’s been three weeks since he’s had a fag and Jimmy’s damn proud of him, even if he’s been having more and more trouble keeping his eyes off Thomas’s mouth.

“Do you remember,” Jimmy starts, then has to pause to work up his nerve. “Do you remember when you kissed me?” 

Thomas frowns around the stick of his lolly, but nods. “How could I forget?” he says darkly.

“Why did you do it, though?” Jimmy really, really wants to know. Was it only in passing, or is it still a sticking point between them? Does Thomas still love him, still want him in that terrifying sexual and romantic way?

With a sigh, Thomas takes the lolly out of his mouth. “It was a mistake,” he says, pursing his lips in distaste. “I’ve apologized. Let’s not get back into that again, alright?”

“No, but why, though?” Jimmy presses. “What was it that made you do it? Was it because I’m, you know, hot?”

Thomas snorts. “You don’t need me feedin’ your ego, Jimmy. If ya want that, go talk to the kitchen girls that moon over you when your back’s turned.”

“But I want to hear it from you,” Jimmy says. He’s not sure why it matters so much, but he can’t help thinking if he knew what Thomas was thinking, then and now, it would help Jimmy sort out all these feelings and desires he can’t get out of his own head.

“Fine, then.” Thomas sucks on his lolly thoughtfully for a moment, then pulls it away again and says, “I thought… you know you’re attractive, you don’t need me to tell you that. But you let me touch you, without telling me to fuck off. I held your hand that once after Sybil- when my sister nearly died. And you let me do it. You never said no, did you?” His voice is rising as he talks and he’s becoming more and more agitated, Jimmy can tell from the way he’s clenching his teeth. “You just let me throw myself at you and you never said a goddamn word about it, all that time. Don’t tell me you don’t know why I did it, Jimmy. I did it because you fucking let me do it!”

There’s a long silence, then Jimmy says, “You’re still in love with me, aren’t you?”

“You know I am,” Thomas says angrily. “Why’ve you always got to bring it up, eh? Why can’t you just leave it well enough alone?”

He stands as though he’s going to leave and Jimmy grabs his hand- the bad one, the one he fucked up in a bar fight the week his son was conceived, the one Jimmy likes to touch, because Thomas never lets anyone but him see it. “Don’t go,” he says. “I- it’s just… stay?”

Thomas looks at down at their joined hands, then up into Jimmy’s face. “Give me a reason,” he says shrewdly.  
Jimmy swallows hard, then forces out, “I like… your mouth. I like looking at your mouth.”

“Can I kiss you?” Thomas asks suddenly. “Will you let me kiss you? It wouldn’t- this one can’t be a mistake, no matter what happens after.”

“Yes,” Jimmy says. He stands up, his hand still holding Thomas’s, and lets Thomas press their mouths together. Thomas tastes like sweets, but smells like warm skin and his expensive cologne. Jimmy’s breath catches in his throat and he pulls back quickly.

“Well?” Thomas challenges. He looks like he’s waiting for a blow, like he thinks Jimmy isn’t going to keep his end of the bargain and will say it was a mistake, after all.

“Your son already thinks we’re together,” Jimmy manages. “I don’t- I wouldn’t want to make him wrong. About the cigarettes, either.”

“No,” Thomas agrees. “He’s a clever lad. He knows what’s what, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Jimmy says vaguely. “I was thinking… It’d have to be slow, mind, but I was thinking maybe we could try this, try being… more. More than friends.” 

He’s been thinking that for a while now, truth be told. Why else would he be so terrible jealous of stupid Oliver, except that Thomas smiles at him? Why else would he put up with Agatha’s obvious jealousy and Tommy’s unshaking belief that Jimmy is his step-father? Why else would he do any of the things he does, all the watching as Thomas moves and thinking about him constantly? And then there’s this smoking thing, with Thomas’s lips being showcased so perfectly, and Jimmy just can’t stand it anymore. He doesn’t know anything about being queer, but he’s obviously half-way there, already. If moving the rest of the way over that line means Thomas smiles at him like he’s doing now- soft and sweet but also full of desire, like he could swallow Jimmy whole- well, then Jimmy’s going to do that, of course. After all, he’s not an idiot, even if it took him a while to get here.

“Alright,” Thomas says, leaning in close to kiss Jimmy again. “Yes. Let’s do that. After all, we wouldn’t want me quitting smoking to go to waste, would we?”


End file.
